


Counsel and Company

by chinuplilpup



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 18:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinuplilpup/pseuds/chinuplilpup
Summary: Neither Ephrim nor Hadrian can find sleep tonight.





	Counsel and Company

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place at some nebulous point after ep 26, it's extremely unclear. spoilers for most of the season, though they're fairly brief because almost all 4k of this is just sex
> 
> also I am constantly very stressed about samothes and maelgwyn-samothes and which is which. I'm pretty sure their understanding of it in this fic is flawed, that's because when I wrote it I had absolutely no idea at all. sorry for that
> 
> warnings: there's focus on scars, ephrim has some pretty unhealthy attitudes towards sex that show up a few times

Ephrim is half asleep. In his dream he is wearing Hadrian’s cloak and standing at the window of a tower that looks out onto an ever-changing landscape. It’s a city he hasn’t seen before, a burning sea, a plain of darkness that sparks with purple energy. The sun over the strange city shines bright and warm and the window decides to keep Ephrim at this vision. 

Someone walks up behind him with familiarity, unclasps his cloak, and presses against Ephrim’s back to take its place. A warmth ignites from inside Ephrim and it feels both comfortable and strangely alien, as if for once the heat in his bones comes from a source outside himself. Samothes hooks his chin over Ephrim’s shoulder and kisses the underside of his jaw. Ephrim sighs, a high almost musical note that he wishes he could as easily recreate in real life, and glances down at Samothes’s arms around his waist. His dark skin almost shines from within in a way that Ephrim’s, though nearly the same color, does not even in a dream. Ephrim starts to turn around in Samothes’s arms.

A knock startles him awake. He sinks back onto the sheets and puts his hand over his eyes. Already the sharp images of the dream are blurring in his memory. The certainty and comfort he had felt drain away and his heart rate picks up as he remembers the texture of Samothes’s lips. 

The knock comes again, three efficient taps. Ephrim sits up and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to comb his curls straight. He has an idea whose knock that might be but he can’t imagine a reason for him to see Ephrim so late in the evening, so it’s a surprise when he opens the door and Hadrian is standing there. He isn’t wearing his cloak or his sword but he has on his armor down to his gloves and his boots. Ephrim becomes aware that he is barefoot and wearing only a loose tunic and pants. He sees Hadrian notice at the same time and Hadrian shifts awkwardly. 

“Hello.” Ephrim hears the question in his own tone. 

“Ephrim.” Hadrian nods curtly. “I apologize if I woke you.”

“Only barely,” Ephrim says. Hadrian doesn’t offer anything else, and Ephrim adds, “I’m afraid I’m not dressed to go out.”

Hadrian raises his chin and steels himself. “I seek counsel,” he paused, “and company.”

Ephrim widens the door and steps back. Hadrian walks in and shuts the door behind him. The slope of his shoulders looks exhausted. Ephrim almost expects him to lean forward and rest his forehead against the door, but Hadrian turns around and meets Ephrim’s eyes. The hotel room, never more than a small wooden box, seems to shrink in between one breath and the next. 

“I welcome the company, though I’m not sure if I can provide much in the way of counsel tonight,” Ephrim hears himself say. 

Hadrian is the one to break his gaze away. “I’m not sure what kind of company I will be, tonight.”

“Strange dreams, too?” Ephrim guesses. 

“I haven’t slept.” Hadrian takes a breath and doesn’t follow it up with words, but Ephrim can feel that words are coming. Years as a prince of Samothes have taught him the cadence of a pause that precedes a confession. He feels heat rise to his cheeks at the thought of Samothes and he turns away, though his complexion and the dim lighting of the room are likely enough to keep this from Hadrian, who is caught up in his own thoughts anyway. 

Ephrim walks over to the table that holds a washing basin and clean towel he asked from the proprietess before he collapsed into bed. “You don’t mind if I…”

“Of course.” Hadrian makes a gesture that conveys, go ahead. 

Ephrim washes his face. The water by now is tepid, any coolness leeched away by the warm humidity that eventually fills any room with Ephrim inside of it. He pats his face dry with the scratchy towel. 

Hadrian says, “You’ve met Samothes.”

Ephrim’s hand moves to a specific point at his throat against his will and he swallows. Hadrian’s eyes track both movements. “I have,” Ephrim says. 

“What was it like?”

Ephrim rakes his eyes over Hadrian’s face. He senses a trap in the question somewhere, but Hadrian is earnest and open as he has always been. Ephrim feels caught off guard by the entire situation, utterly thrown off balance. He answers less carefully than he would like. “Surely you know as well as I do. You met him in his forge as well, and you weren’t dead at the time.”

Hadrian’s hand goes to his belt where his new sword usually hangs. 

“We both have our own gifts and burdens to carry in His name.” It’s supposed to be as cutting and sarcastic as Ephrim can twist his voice into conveying, and he watches Hadrian consider the words seriously with a nod and a slight frown. 

Hadrian says, “Isn’t jealousy usually my arena?”

Ephrim blinks. Surprise melts into amusement and he lets out a short laugh that drags a grudging smile out of Hadrian. Ephrim leans back against the table. “It’s fitting for us both. Samothes is a jealous god.”

Hadrian’s smile falls away but the tension that dissipated between them doesn’t return. “I should feel closer to Him, but I feel further away than ever.” He runs a hand through his hair suddenly. “You must have heard this from every man and woman of the creed in Hieron.”

“It does get old,” Ephrim says. “I suspect that the feeling plagues everyone with faith.” 

Hadrian nods. The silence stretches long but this time marginally more comfortable. Ephrim says, “I warned you about the quality of my counsel.” 

Hadrian sighs audibly, a commiseration. “And the company?” He isn’t looking at Ephrim as he says it but he holds Ephrim’s gaze easily when Ephrim catches his eye. 

Ephrim carefully places his palms behind him on the table. He considers feigning ignorance. He considers taking the invitation into Hadrian’s space, imagines watching Hadrian watch him drop to his knees. He says, “And Rosana?” 

Never let it be said that Prince Ephrim The Gifted, His Summer Son, Lord of the Coming Spring, Prophet of the Unwavering Flame, Silver Hand of Samothes, is not a saint. 

To his surprise, Hadrian doesn’t look away, though he flushes deep enough that Ephrim can make out the reddish tinge spreading across his dark skin even across the room. “We have an arrangement.”

Ephrim raises an eyebrow. He knows Hadrian is telling the truth, because otherwise he would not be standing in Ephrim’s room with such a proposal in the air between them. For a moment he gets caught up in imagining the terms of the arrangement, if it was general or if Hadrian had spoken to Rosana about Ephrim, if Hadrian had wanted this for weeks or months or. Ephrim’s throat clicks as he swallows and he makes up his mind. 

“Take off your armor,” he says. 

Hadrian walks towards a simple wooden chair near the wall and starts to unbuckle his chestplate. Ephrim watches candlelight dance over Hadrian as he steadily and deftly undoes buckles and straps and sets pieces of metal and leather armor on the chair. Something low in his stomach pulls him in that direction and Hadrian falters for a second when Ephrim’s hands join his. 

Ephrim takes over for him. He has never undone this particular style of armor but he is a quick study. Hadrian’s last piece of armor, his gloves, comes and Ephrim continues to undress him. He drops Hadrian’s tunic carelessly onto the floor, a contrast to the measured and reverent way they handled his armor, and they pull his undershirt off together. Ephrim flings that into the corner somewhere and then Hadrian gives him pause with a hand on his cheek. 

At this distance, where Ephrim can feel the heat off Hadrian’s body, he has to look up about half an inch to meet Hadrian’s eyes. Hadrian tilts his head down and Ephrim lets Hadrian kiss his cheek, and then the underside of his jaw. His stubble scratches at Ephrim’s cheeks and chin and mouth. It’s sweet and Ephrim’s stomach knots up in a way that feels good but his patience runs down like a fuse, and thank _god_ , Hadrian’s must too. He bites at Ephrim’s chin and pulls back. He licks his lips and watches Hadrian watch him do it. He grins and falls to his knees. 

Hadrian’s lips part in almost a gasp as Ephrim anchors himself with his hands on Hadrian’s hips. Ephrim drags his hands down to Hadrian’s thighs, avoiding pressing between his legs where Hadrian wants him the most. He moves his hands up and down his thighs, bunching and unbunching the fabric of his pants and gently urges Hadrian to spread his legs enough for Ephrim to shuffle forward on his knees in between them. 

“This good?” Ephrim asks. 

Hadrian puts his hands in Ephrim’s hair and nods.

Ephrim slides his fingertips underneath Hadrian’s waistband and breathes hot air over Hadrian’s dick through his pants, then pulls back when Hadrian’s hips twitch forward. “Is this what you knocked on my door for?” 

Hadrian doesn’t answer in words but his fingers tighten in Ephrim’s hair for a second. Ephrim grins and rubs his cheek over the front of Hadrian’s pants. “How many times have you dreamt about me here?” 

Hadrian curses under his breath and Ephrim’s face floods with heat when he mentions dreams. He can’t wait anymore. He leans back and undoes Hadrian’s belt, his fingers slightly less coordinated than they had been removing his armor, and pulls Hadrian’s pants down his thighs until they tangle around his knees. Ephrim leans up on his knees and exhales directly against his dick. Hadrian inhales sharply.

Ephrim glances up and Hadrian has his eyes shut as he leans back. Ephrim puts his hand on Hadrian’s stomach and encourages him to arch further back until his shoulders hit the wall. It’s a slightly awkward position, his head and shoulders against the wall and his hips pushed forward, but Hadrian’s spine bends gracefully and he sighs away some of the tension in his muscles. 

Usually Ephrim would dive in eyes closed and let his partner pull him where they wanted him. Hadrian so far is responsive but quiet and he mostly keeps his hands still in Ephrim’s hair. Ephrim considers, then sits back a little on his heels and drags his thumb over Hadrian’s dick, feeling it get harder under his touch. His thumb comes away slick and he makes sure Hadrian is looking down at him before he drags his thumb over his lower lip, spreading the slickness there. Hadrian groans and tugs Ephrim’s head forward. 

Ephrim doesn’t draw it out any further. He flattens his tongue and follows the path he traced with his thumb. He moans at his first taste of Hadrian and quickly figures out what Hadrian likes based on the tenor of his sighs and the scratch of his blunt fingernails against Ephrim’s scalp. Ephrim keeps his hands at Hadrian’s hips, feeling his muscles tense and shift under the skin. 

Hadrian lets Ephrim pull back easily and Ephrim turns his head to take shallow breaths against Hadrian’s thigh. “Can I—Do you like—do you want my fingers?”

Hadrian tips his head back to the ceiling and says, “Yeah, yes, _Ephrim_.”

Ephrim thrills at the sound of his own name in Hadrian’s mouth and he slips two fingers between Hadrian’s legs, circles his dick to get them wet, and pushes one inside of him. 

“Ah, fuck,” Hadrian gasps. 

Ephrim follows the first finger with a second and finds the angle to curl them that makes Hadrian’s thighs shake and he brings Hadrian off against the wall like that, with his fingers and his mouth. 

Hadrian comes almost silently, with some breathy curse or prayer that Ephrim can’t make out. He pushes Ephrim’s head away from his dick almost immediately, but Ephrim keeps his fingers inside Hadrian until he stops clenching around them. He pulls them out slowly and Hadrian shuffles back a little, straightening his spine in time to watch Ephrim put his fingers in his mouth and suck them clean. The weight of them on his tongue feels good and Hadrian’s expression feels like electricity running down his spine. 

Ephrim lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes off his face. He’s so turned on he can feel his heartbeat pulse between his legs. He wonders if Hadrian’s gotten all he wanted. When he looks up again Hadrian hasn’t moved, though something in his expression has shifted subtly, softened around the edges. The moment stretches long enough that Ephrim starts to feel awkward. He gets to his feet—there’s an extra twinge of pain in his right knee, god, is he getting old?—and brushes off his pants. 

Hadrian curls his fingers around Ephrim’s biceps. Ephrim’s heart all but stops as Hadrian leans forward but instead of trying to kiss him, Hadrian buries his face in Ephrim’s neck. Ephrim’s hand goes to the back of his head instinctively, and Hadrian presses his lips to the curve of his shoulder. Ephrim lets him, then drags him away by the hair. Hadrian’s chest expands sharply and his eyes drop to Ephrim’s lips. That, Ephrim can work with. 

“Go to the bed.” 

It’s an awkward fumble at first as Ephrim helps Hadrian step out of his boots so he can kick them and his pants away. His first few steps toward the bed are shaky but gain measure and confidence and he kneels by the foot of the bed. 

Ephrim runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. He takes off his clothes, folds them, and drapes them over the back of the chair. Then he uses his shirt to scrub at his face, and just drops it to the ground. It’s a small room, and by now it’s hot like a summer afternoon is hot. Ephrim feels sweat beading on his forehead again in the time it takes him to cross over to the bed. 

Ephrim sits on the edge of the mattress and says, “Come here,” and Hadrian does, moving in between Ephrim’s legs. Ephrim’s breath catches. He’s still hard but he wants to take his time and see what Hadrian will do. 

Hadrian reaches out, reaches up, until his hand is hovering above Ephrim’s chest, above the crossbow bolt scars there. 

“You can touch.” Ephrim’s voice is barely more than a whisper but it carries the weight of an order. 

Hadrian takes it. He traces the scar tissue with the tips of his fingers. A man like Hadrian must have intimate knowledge of wounds and how they heal, and it’s strange, even wondrous, and terrifying that Ephrim’s skin has stitched itself together so thoroughly after only several weeks. He sees all of that reflected in Hadrian’s face as Hadrian familiarizes himself with the raised, almost pale scars. 

There are matching ones on Ephrim’s back. It’s miraculous he’s alive at all. His chest rises and falls shallowly under Hadrian’s palm. “What do you want?” Ephrim asks. 

Instead of answering Hadrian bends forward and kisses Ephrim’s hipbone. Ephrim leans back on his palms to give him room. Hadrian bites down gently and Ephrim makes a sound that could generously be called a whimper and is much more like a squeak. He takes a fortifying breath and says, “Go on then.”

Hadrian kisses sloppily over the length of Ephrim’s dick before he takes it into his mouth. Ephrim tries to swallow his whimpers and moan prettily for him, but fuck, Hadrian is good at this. He trembles with the urge to thrust up as Hadrian takes him to the back of his throat and starts to bob his head. Hadrian digs his fingers into the meat of Ephrim’s thighs and Ephrim whines and can’t help but push his hips up a little. Hadrian takes it and sinks down further on Ephrim’s dick, swallowing around him. 

Ephrim feels himself on the edge of coming, and god, he absolutely can’t come this quickly. He takes hold of the hair at the nape of Hadrian’s neck and drags him off Ephrim’s dick. They both pant for breath in the humid air. Ephrim runs his fingers through Hadrian’s hair, smooths over the grey at his temples. “What do you want?” he asks again.

Hadrian is already flushed and the color deepens on his cheeks. “I,” he says, and has to pause and clear his throat. “Ephrim.”

Ephrim smiles and brushes the backs of his fingers against Hadrian’s cheek to feel the heat there. “What? I can’t read your mind.”

“Ephrim,” he pleads, desperate, and his hands are trembling where they rest on Ephrim’s thighs. 

Heat twists in his gut and Ephrim takes pity on him. He cups Hadrian’s chin in his hand and tilts his face up. Ephrim bends down and kisses him once, soft and close-lipped. When he pulls back Hadrian’s eyes are closed. “Get up here.”

He tugs Hadrian up to his feet and then down onto his back in the middle of the mattress. Hadrian is wet down his thighs and they’re both shaking in anticipation but Ephrim takes a moment to really look at him. His impatience from before melts away. This feels like he’s being entrusted with something—no, it feels like being trusted, and he wants more than anything to be worthy of it. 

He sits back on Hadrian’s thighs and sweeps his palms over the muscles of his chest, his arms, following the pattern of the scars there. His skin feels cool and Ephrim knows it’s because his own hands are running hot, the source of most of the heat in the small room and the reason for the sweat that beads on their skin. 

Sweat sticks Hadrian’s hair to his temples as he looks his fill of Ephrim in his turn. His eyes catch and hold at Ephrim’s lips, the soft curve of his hips, the stretch of his thighs as he sits over Hadrian’s. Hadrian clenches and unclenches his hands in the sheets, leaving them wrinkled. 

Ephrim takes his hands and feels Hadrian relax under his touch. He places them on his own hips, where Hadrian looked the longest. Hadrian sweeps his thumbs back and forth across Ephrim’s hipbones and Ephrim shudders at the rough glide of his sword calluses as Hadrian slides a hand across the soft give of his stomach and then is drawn to the scars on Ephrim’s chest, rubbing his fingers over it.

Ephrim can’t parse Hadrian’s expression. He looks at Ephrim with—with care, and with lust. Ephrim knows what to do with the second one at least. 

He leans over and puts his mouth on a scar that curves wickedly over Hadrian’s shoulder. Hadrian’s fingers spasm at Ephrim’s waist. He uses that hand to yank Ephrim forward an inch, and Ephrim gasps sharply. 

It’s a scramble after that, a string of breathless moments as Ephrim pulls back and pushes one of Hadrian’s legs up towards his chest and presses his dick against Hadrian’s cunt. They pause for a second there, each caught up in the feeling of it. “Please,” Hadrian says, hoarse and simple, and Ephrim presses forward, presses in. 

Hadrian makes a noise low in his throat when Ephrim bottoms out. Ephrim for his part all but collapses onto the expanse of Hadrian’s chest, pressing his nose to Hadrian’s neck. He rolls his hips, and Hadrian arches up and moans low in his throat. The feeling of it rumbling through Ephrim’s own chest makes him want to laugh. He would if he had the breath for it. 

He props himself up on his elbows and Hadrian hooks his thigh around his waist and that gives Ephrim the leverage to fuck him.

Hadrian shuts his eyes and pants toward the ceiling, open-mouthed and desperate. Ephrim lets himself fall further onto one elbow and only falters slightly in the rhythm of his thrusts as he shifts one hand to push Hadrian’s sweaty hair off his forehead. He strokes his fingertips over Hadrian’s closed eyelids, to the rough scar on his temple, down over his cheeks, and smoothes his fingers across Hadrian’s lips. He slows down his thrusts so he can lean down and press a kiss that falls half on Hadrian’s chin and half on his bottom lip. 

Ephrim slows the movement of his hips. He kisses Hadrian’s mouth more fully and Hadrian kisses back this time, tilting his chin up to chase Ephrim’s lips when Ephrim pulls away to drag open-mouthed kisses across Hadrian’s jawline up to his temple. “Open your eyes.” 

Hadrian tips his head to the side, hiding half of his face in the sheets. Ephrim stills, deep in Hadrian’s cunt. He smoothes Hadrian’s hair from his forehead again and then takes a handful and tugs until Hadrian’s chin is tilted towards him. “Look at me,” he says.

Hadrian opens his eyes and his gaze feels like a brand. Ephrim keeps his grip in Hadrian’s hair as he starts to fuck him again. He holds Hadrian’s gaze, tightening his fingers whenever Hadrian starts to close his eyes or turn his head away. Hadrian moans, louder now but still soft and deep in his chest, a contrast to the whimpers that Ephrim tries to bite back so he can hear as well as feel Hadrian shaking apart around him. 

Ephrim slows down, trying for deeper and harder strokes, and presses his lips to Hadrian’s cheek to catch his breath. Hadrian whines high in his throat. “Fuck, fuck,” Ephrim gasps into Hadrian’s ear. “Touch yourself, make yourself come, come on.”

Hadrian’s hand brushes against Ephrim’s stomach as he moves it over his dick. He’s moaning on every exhale now and then his hips stutter and he clenches down on Ephrim over and over as he comes. Ephrim fucks him through it and drinks in every gasp he wrings from Hadrian’s lips. Hadrian’s thigh slips from Ephrim’s waist and Ephrim uses the hand not still in Hadrian’s hair to push his leg up to his chest, though it takes a few moments for his damp palm to find purchase on the back of Hadrian’s sweat-slick thigh. Hadrian’s fingernails dig into Ephrim’s biceps as Ephrim thrusts into him two, three, five more times, and that’s all it takes before Ephrim pulls out and comes onto Hadrian’s stomach and chest. 

In the moments afterwards, both of their chests heaving and the silence of the larger world crowding back into the room, Ephrim almost lets his trembling arms give way. He doesn’t let himself collapse onto Hadrian like he wants to, and instead pushes himself up off the bed. He wobbles to the table on the opposite side of the room and brings the washing basin and towel back to the bed. 

The water is lukewarm at best but Hadrian sighs and melts into the sheets as Ephrim drags the wet towel over his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Ephrim cleans him the best he can as exhaustion begins to drag at his limbs, and he remembers that Hadrian had woken him from fitful sleep, from a dream. 

He leans back up and Hadrian gathers him into his arms, and Ephrim, tired and sated and at a kind of peace that will seem strange in the morning when he remembers the world and the weight on his shoulders, curls himself around Hadrian and clings to his chest. 

Hadrian finds his mouth and kisses him. Ephrim tastes the sweat beaded on Hadrian’s cupid’s bow and presses their intertwined hands to the mattress above Hadrian’s head and kisses him until his lips are swollen and his cheeks are raw and the scrape of Hadrian’s stubble feels like sandpaper against his skin. 

Eventually Ephrim has to breathe and he brings Hadrian’s hands to his mouth and then lets them go. Hadrian’s breath catches and he wraps his arms around Ephrim as Ephrim settles his head on Hadrian’s chest. 

Ephrim listens to Hadrian’s breathing grow gradually deep and steady, and when Ephrim falls asleep he doesn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is the first fic I've really finished, ever 
> 
> talk to me about trans hadrian


End file.
